In a Name
by droidgirl
Summary: The story of the girl in Rome and The Immortal. x-over with LOTR Buffy Season 8 spoilers
1. In a Name

She found out when she grabbed her boyfriend's arm and promptly broke it in two. The x-rays even showed a clean break, sundering healthy, solid white matter. It did just more than sunder bone of course; he knew it was an accident. He said so, and more importantly, she knew that he believed so. But that didn't stop the quiet fear that crept into his eyes whenever he looked at her. The way he stopped touching her, and flinched each time she reached for him.

She was afraid to hold him too tight, because it felt as if he would break in her arms, crumbling into so many pieces.

Needless to say, it didn't work out between them.

She didn't know where this came from. She had just about convinced herself to seek medical help, when the messengers came, a redheaded girl and a blonde boy. They told her that medicine couldn't help her now, but they could.

The redhead told her to take her hand, and instead of standing at her apartment doorway in the middle of a city in middle America, she found herself buffetted by the high winds of the Scottish moors, standing on top of a _parapet_.

Good grief was that a shock.

So they had explained to her what's what. The whole deal about the one girl in all the world, which became many girls. They told her about the darkness that had been hidden from the common eye. They explained that all that stood between that all-encompassing darkness and the world, was this band of girls. No, this band of women. And she was one of them. It was hard not to believe their explanation; it was also clearly the truth, when she was literally, surrounded by an army of females.

It had been so exciting at first, especially when they told her that they already had a mission for her. That she was to be sent to Rome. That this was her _destiny_. Sure, she still stung at the loss of her lover; she was aware of the dangerous life that awaited her now. But still. It was _exciting_.

She never questioned that they never taught her how to fight this darkness. Instead, they gave her a brand new wardrobe, told her not to cut her hair or change her hair colour, gave her a lot of spending money and a pretty apartment overlooking Rome. She never questioned that they told her to tell people her name was "Buffy". It was a couple of months later, when she found herself screaming in an alley, praying for a saviour as a hideously deformed monster tried to bite into her neck when she admitted it to herself.

They only wanted her because she was small and blonde.

Andrew, the tiny blonde boy, explained to her later, not daring to look her in the eye, that her role was to be a decoy for the real "Buffy". The girl who was busy saving the world. The woman with the real destiny. In fact, she thought as she smiled mirthlessly to herself, she was one of many decoys.

So much for being special.

That night however, in they alley, as she met and was about to be killed by the first vampire she had ever seen, something else happened. Someone had grabbed her would-be murderer off her and staked the vampire, showering her in a cloud a dust. She looked up to find herself looking at the most beautiful being she could ever hope to encounter in this life or the next. Even in her dazed and frightened state, she could not help but notice the glow that infused his entire being.

The dark alley was lit up by his very presence.

He spoke soothingly to her, holding his hand out to help her up. He told her he was The Immortal. One of the good guys. He told her to trust him.

She was learning not to take words at face value; she had to, now that she had learnt how greatly she had been lied to by omission.

But still.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Some mornings, she looked at herself in the mirror and mouthed,

"Buffy?"

Sometimes, when introducing herself, she was shocked at how easily the lie rolled off her tongue. At night, in her dreams, she found herself sifting through gauzy nothingness, looking for something. A name. Her name. Those terrified her the most.

Andrew eventually left, but that was ok. She hadn't talked to him in months.

Besides, _he_ was around almost every night. She had no real want for company. In the privacy of the apartment, he called her by her name. When they were out, he never called her by anything. He would rather nothing, than the truth.

And so the days marched on.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

One night, she looked in the mirror, at her blonde hair, and realized she had never even met this "Buffy" person. How could she be someone she didn't know a thing about? If that was the case, who the hell was she?

Everything was suddenly too bright. She lurched backwards and tripped over the bathroom mat, her back crashing into the edges of the bathtub painfully; she felt nothing however, as she felt herself start to fall into a white, featureless abyss.

He was there immediately, having heard the crash. He looked at her silently for a moment, before scooping her up and bringing her into the bedroom, where he cradled her gently against his ageless body as if she were a small child.

"I used to be someone else too. In another time. Hell, another world. I was a Prince among the Eldar. I fought against the hosts of dark lords this world cannot even begin to imagine," he said quietly. "Now, my people are gone, their memory lost beyond recall. I am simply The Immortal, a human with an unnaturally long lifespan, but still human nonetheless. In a world where they refuse to comprehend what they do not understand,"

"Some days, I forget I was ever anyone or anything but The Immortal,"

He looked down at her, his ancient eyes seeking her.

"We might not share the same plight, but I am not ignorant of your pain," he told her.

She wanted to accept his comfort, but she was wrapped up in her own misery. Moreover, a part of her, the petulant part of her demanded that she had every right to keep wallowing in this misery. And because she had the right to be self indulgent, it seemed like a very good idea to kiss the full lips right above her, and wind her fingers in his golden hair.

It turned out, she was right.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Making love to an immortal elf was apparently, really fun. They, or at least this one, had centuries of experience on him. And he seemed to want to try everything he had learnt at once on her...which there wasn't enough time to, even after a few hours. Which meant there would be a next time. And probably a next time after that.

Sure, she thought as she watched him sleep with his eyes wide open, life sucked sometimes.

Sure it also sucked to be caught in between worlds.

But, she reflected as she rested her body against his, their feet tangled together, there were worse places to be. Worse people to be.

After all, "Buffy" was just a name. At the end of it, she was still her; and she knew, she thought as she fell asleep, their golden hair mingling with each other's, that she was not the only one who had an idea who the real _her_ was.


	2. Pride

Pride

Curse Elessar, Estel, Aragorn, Thorongil or whatever the hell he called himself in his lifetime. Curse him, for making me swear that I would not see his work go to dust. Curse him for his foresight, in understanding that the world of men was weak as it ever had been, and would only tear itself to pieces as the eons wore on. That I would be needed to counter not only their own cruel spirits, but as a guard against the dark things that still lurked in the shadows and the deserted plains.

Curse me, for loving him enough, my brother in every way that counted except the one, to promise that I would not abandon all that he had fought for and built. Curse me, for not building that ship and sailing into the West.

Though of course, I found out later that the West was really Newfoundland, and I didn't want to go there anyway. None of the Eldar wanted to stay there. Galadriel runs a multi-million dollar beautifying salon out of Pasadena. Elrond, living with his ever fragile Celebrian, owns some of the world's most exclusive condominiums and hotels, and some of the most beautiful cars in the whole world.

The blood of the Elves now runs commercial.

Saying that, I suppose I can't hate Aragorn for dooming me to remain in Middle Earth, or simply Earth I should say. But sometimes, when I get really, really miserable, I desperately want to hate him; it's so much easier when you can blame someone.

Was it the disappointment upon finding the West to be much less than the paradise that was promised? Or was it simply my everlasting life that stripped away almost everything that had separated my kind from mankind? I've come to know lust, jealousy, pride, things that Elves were supposed to be above. I've come to understand passion, infatuation and impetuousness, and the rush that all three entails which again, was supposed to be beneath myself.

Not everything has been terrible about losing that miasma of piousness, as I see it now, that wrapped around my people.

I never did learn to stop loving mankind, no matter how much ugliness they churn out every time; no matter how much they continually try to screw themselves over.

"Ah Thranduillon, you never did learn to behave as your superior lineage would warrant," Elrond would sigh with a disapproving frown, over a glass of Chardonnay each time I visited. "You seem to have gone native,"

If his cars weren't so damn gorgeous, if he didn't let me drive them, I doubt I would keep in touch with that old snob. Never did forgive Aragorn for stealing his little girl.

My father, by the way, was one of the first tree huggers. I was just slightly embarrassed at the sight of my hippie Dad on television, wearing some terrible tie-dye shirt yelling about fascist capitalist pigs while chained to a tree.

Though my own list of misdeeds are perhaps, far worse. My hands are not without innocent blood; not by far. You live as long as I have, lose everything you once believe in just because the world isn't what you were told it was in your youth, shit happens. I started calling myself The Immortal in a fit of madness that took over, no longer hiding in the shadows with the creatures that crept around. It was clearly, tempting fate; I woke up in the mornings, not understanding what the point was in going on and on with no end in sight. I stopped trying to rid the world of evil. I killed those who crossed me, good or nay. I had lost my bearings completely.

Until Darla of course. And sweet, deranged, blood soaked Drusilla. I bedded both, two beautiful women to wile away the time; it amused me to anger their demon lovers. It was later, when I shuddered to think that I had let two beings of such evil arouse my interest, that I wondered how low I had sunk.

Was that a turning point? No. That'd be cheesy to say. But it was a start.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I had heard that the Slayer was in town. What I found however, was a scared girl, who had no idea what she was capable of, or even who she was, cowering in a dark corner of an alley.

She was a pretty thing I suppose; No Luthien, but attractive enough. Beyond her height and her hair, she did not much resemble the photograph of the real slayer. True, there were many abroad now, but no fool would ever mistake them for _The_ Slayer.

I didn't take her to bed immediately; I am not that despicable as to take advantage of vulnerable young girl, clinging to anyone for comfort. I found her too wrapped in her misery at the confusion of being two people at once to be of any real use in a fight. Harsh as it might have sounded, to my eyes, she was no warrior, and held no real interest to be one, or I would have offered to teach her.

Still. Someone caught between two worlds. I could understand that. I returned night after night, trying to offer my comfort, which she eagerly accepted. Her trusting nature, I thought, another flaw that would prevent her from ever being the fighter she was called to be. I held her close, seeking to protect her.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Perhaps if I hadn't been so caught up in my pride, thinking that I knew her without any effort, simply because of my time with men, she might still be alive.

Did I love her?

She surely deserved it; I can only wish I could have given her that much.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was late on a Thursday night. I held her hand, strolling to her place that humid summer's night when it happened. A demon dropped from the rooftops to tower menacingly over the both of us.

"Buffy Summers!" it growled.

"Yes?" She asked calmly, accustomed to the lie.

"I will have your head and be honoured among my clan," it stepped forward.

I felt my muscles tense, ready to spring into action.

"You and what army?" she asked, pushing me out of the way to my surprise. "I am Buffy Summers. I survived the Hellmouth, I survived the First, and I will survive you,"

The demon roared and charged at her. Clumsily, she defended herself and landed a few hits on that thing. Slayer strength accounted for much that was missing in skill, I observed. And instinct. I wondered if this was some secret knowledge all slayers were innately gifted with.

Somewhere during the fight, the slayer had found a crude weapon in the form of a pipe, and used it give the beast a mortal wound. Howling with rage, it stumbled, intent on escaping, when it saw me. My eyes widened as it changed it course in my direction, desperate to kill something in its frustration.

I would have finished him, if she had not appeared before me. A clawed hand was buried deep in her gut. I felt a rage unlike any I had ever known, and leapt up while the demon was still stunned at his victory, and killed it quickly.

I turned back to her, but there were no cathartic last words to be had. Her eyes were glazed over in death, her face frozen and twisted in agony forever.

The only thing in my mind was her name.

And the ever present guilt, that I could have prevented this, if I had not been so blind.

Pride cometh before the fall. Is that not what humans say?

That I, and those of my kind, possessed that wisdom.


End file.
